


Faded

by Mr_Customs_Man



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Crossover, Darkspawn, Eluvians (Dragon Age), Gen, The Blight (Dragon Age), The Fade
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-07-20 01:28:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19983787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mr_Customs_Man/pseuds/Mr_Customs_Man
Summary: The Wizarding World has come a long way in its creation of spells and potions since the early days when turning men into frogs was considered the height of sorcery. But never has a witch or wizard ask that most pressing of question: whatismagic? All they know is that it works and they have been content with that. But after Harry's fight with Quirrell, he's about to discover another side to magic, one that will take him to new realms lurking behind mirrors, where demons lay in wait to possess the unknowing, and where an ancient disease lingers to bring about the downfall of all mankind.





	1. Prologue

Quirrell cursed under his breath. 

“I don’t understand... is the Stone _inside_ the mirror? Should I break it?” 

Harry’s mind was racing. 

_What I want more than anything else in this world at the moment_ , he thought, _is to find the Stone before Quirrell does._ _So_ _if I look in the mirror, I should see myself finding it – which means I’ll see where it’s hidden! But how can I look without Quirrell realizing what I’m up to?_

He tried to edge to the left, to get in front of the glass without Quirrell noticing, but the ropes around his ankles were too tight: he tripped and fell over. Quirrell ignored him. He was still talking to himself. 

“What does this mirror do? How does it work? Help me, Master!” 

And to Harry’s horror, a voice answered, and the voice seemed to come from Quirrell himself. 

“Use the boy... Use the boy...” 

Quirrell rounded on Harry. 

“Yes – Potter – come here.” 

He clapped his hands once, and the ropes binding Harry fell off. Harry got slowly to his feet. 

“Come here,” Quirrell repeated. “Look in the mirror and tell me what you see.” 

Harry walked toward him. 

_I must lie,_ he thought desperately. _I must look and lie about what I see, that’s all._

Quirrell moved close behind him. Harry breathed in the funny smell that seemed to come from Quirrell’s turban. He closed his eyes, stepped in front of the mirror, and opened them again. 

He saw his reflection, pale and scared-looking at first. But a moment later, the reflection smiled at him. It put its hand into its pocket and pulled out a blood-red stone. It winked and put the Stone back in its pocket – and as it did so, Harry felt something heavy drop into his real pocket. Somehow – incredibly – _he'd gotten the Stone_. 

His reflection gave him a cheeky grin and at that moment Harry wished his reflection would come out of the mirror too. Together, they’d surely beat Quirrell. 

As if it heard him, the reflection’s grin grew wider and it pressed its hand against the clear glass. Harry felt an urge to reach for it too, to touch it palm to palm, but Quirrell’s voice broke through the spell. 

“Something’s happening! Master, this is it! It’s working!” The excitement drained away, however, as the reflection continued to press – press – press until finally the tips of its fingers breached a glass. There was a wrist, followed quickly by an arm, head, and torso. But it wasn’t Harry’s arm or head. The pink skin had melted away from his reflection, leaving a purple scaled woman with a fanged smiled. 

“Oh, you sweet, dear boy,” she purred. “You’ve set me free. How shall I ever repay you? Would you like me to kill this bad man for you? Yes, I think I will.” 

Quirrell stood frozen. In fear or some other emotion, Harry couldn’t tell. Quirrell’s eyes roved over her, to the tips of her horns to the gold chains that served as her attire and not much else. Voldemort’s voice rose up suddenly, finally spurring Quirrell into action, “Run! Run, you fool!” 

Harry remembered very little of what happened next. He got the feeling that _She_ didn’t want him to know exactly what had happened between her and Quirrell. All he remembered was her blood-stained hands gently cupping his face. “I’ve done this for you,” she said. “I did it because you desired it. I can protect you. You never have to fear Voldemort again so long as I am with you. _Just let me in_.” 

And then he awoke in infirmary, Professor Dumbledore’s face smiling down at him as he assured him of the destruction of the Philosopher’s Stone. 

* * *

The last few days at Hogwarts were a whirlwind for Harry. He pushed into the first empty car he saw and collapsed onto the seat, his eyes already drooping. Hermione squeezed next to him, her face inches from his. If she didn’t stop frowning like that, she would have worry lines by the time she was twenty. 

“Are you really feeling okay, Harry?” Hermione asked. “You’ve been so tired these last few days, and you look pale. You really should have gone straight back to the infirmary after the end of term feast.” 

“Leave him alone,” Ron said. “Of course he’s tired! He got into a fight with You-Know-Who and _won_! Take all the naps you want, Harry.” 

“Thanks, Ron. I’ll do that.” 

Ron saluted him with a Chocolate Frog. 

Hermione finally backed away from him, her frown easing up little by little. “Well, if you’re sure...” 

Whatever was said next, Harry didn’t hear. He had already drifted off to sleep. 

Ever since the fight with Quirrell and Voldemort, Harry’s dreams had taken a strange turn. He no longer had nightmares about green light and high-pitched laughter. Now, more often than not, he found himself in a garden where everything was just a touch too bright, a little too unreal. There was a haziness to the landscape, like a Monet in a museum. And there were voices, people watching him. They never came near him, but he could hear them talking. 

“What is that? Why... why is everything sharper around it?” 

“It’s a human! Wisdom was talking about them. She said they used to come here all the time in their dreams. And then, they just stopped one day. No one knows why.” 

“Well, how did it get here? Where did it come from?” 

“I don’t know, but I want to know. Wisdom said there was a whole other world outside of the Fade. Can you imagine? I wonder what it looks like. Do you think the human will let me go with him?” 

“Better not go near him... he’s under _her_ protection.” 

So Harry was understandably startled when he came across another person. The two stared at each other, unsure of what to make of the other. And it was definitely a person, no matter how strange he looked. Harry took in his pale, sharp features, his bald head, his pointed ears. But what stood out most to Harry was the fact that he was real. He knew that everything around him was a dream, but the strange man in front of him looked solid. 

“What are you doing here?” The man demanded, his face twisting in anger. “No one can cross the Wall!” 

Harry took a step back, his heart pounding as the man advanced towards him. “Tell me! Tell me now!” He demanded. 

Harry woke with a start to Ron’s rough shoving. “Lunch time,” he said. “Didn’t figure you’d want to sleep through that.” 


	2. Chapter 1

Her name was Asha. 

She put her nose against one of her roses, so close that her lips brushed against the petals and wherever her skin touched the white petals turned blood red. “I remember roses,” she said. “I’m one of the few left who do. Since the Wall came up and the dreamers left, the spirits have lost their connection to the real world. We can only recreate what we see, which is why you must remain here in my garden when you dream, unless I am with you. Outside, the Fade is a shiftless void filled with ruins.” 

In the distance, Harry could see the ghostly outline of a castle that stood starkly black against the green. “Who were the dreamers?” 

“The mages, of course. All mages came to the Fade when they slept.” 

“Well, I’m a wizard. Why couldn’t I come here before now?” 

Asha laughed. “Because you weren’t a mage until I came. Oh, sure, you were a wizard, like your Dumbledore, peddling tricks. But tricks are not real magic.” 

Harry grew hot with anger. “Dumbledore is a great wizard. He’s the most powerful wizard in the world.” 

Asha looked up from her roses and gave him a sweet, if sharp, smile. “Oh, my dear boy, I don’t doubt that. But there was a time when wizards and witches could do so much _more_. I’ve watched mages create lightning storms, summon swords made from their souls, and slow down time with barely a flick of their wrist. None of this wand waving and screaming of incantations as you do.” She put her hand on Harry’s shoulder. “The Wall has caused suffering to both your world and mine. I suspect there are little holes in it, places that we can work at until it comes crashing down. There must be holes, otherwise you would not have access to magic at all, even as little as it is.” 

“What do you mean? I am a wizard, aren’t I?” 

“Of course you’re a mage, but magic is not native to your world. It comes from mine. Well, to be completely accurate, my world is nothing but magic. The Fade is... like a ball of clay waiting to be sculpted. You simply will the world to your liking. For instance, gravity only exists here because you think it should and now that I have put the idea in your head that gravity _doesn’t_ actually exist in the Fade...” 

Harry let out a shocked laugh as he began to float. He felt weightless. It was almost like riding his Nimbus, except even then he could feel the world around him pushing him down. Here, there was nothing to hold him back. 

Asha grinned and waved him back before he could get too high. “Do you see? When you cast a spell, you are pulling bits of the Fade into your world. You are getting a little bit of that clay into your hands so you can reshape it.” 

Harry flew next to her, hovering a few inches off the ground. “You said there are holes. That we need to make them bigger. Where are they?” 

“I know there is one at your school. I could sense it during my brief time there.” 

Harry bit at his lip, wondering if he should ask the question that had been burning away in the back of his mind since he had met her. “How did you get into that mirror?” 

Asha waved her hand airily. “Oh, it wasn’t really a mirror that I was in. They’re called Eluvians, entrances to portals. That particular Eluvian – the Mirror of Erised as you called it – led to a single, small room. Now, we’ve spoken enough, it’s time for you to wake up.” 

It wasn’t until Harry found himself staring at Ron’s bedroom ceiling that he realized Asha hadn’t actually answered his question. 

* * *

Harry thumbed through one of Ron’s _Martin_ _Miggs_ comics, but his mind kept drifting away from the moving pictures. He hadn’t told Ron or Hermione about Asha and what really happened that night with Quirrell. They assumed that Dumbledore’s theory was correct, that the sacrificial love Harry’s mother felt protected him. There were times, though, when he wanted to. Went so far as to open his mouth, but every time he did he could feel her, hear her as she whispered, _they wouldn’t understand_. And his mouth would close, whether he wanted it to or not. 

“So, what’s the difference between a ghost and a ghoul?” Harry asked. Ghosts were spirits, right? At least, that’s what Muggles believed, so surely one would be able to tell him more about Asha and the Fade. 

Ron looked up from his comic. “Ghouls aren’t dead. Well, I mean, they can die, and I guess become a ghoul ghost or something, but the one in the attic is alive. Come on, I’ll show you.” 

Harry followed Ron up the spindly staircase and through the attic door. Sitting in one corner was a pale, slimy creature that resembled an ogre, albeit a tiny one that stood a couple of inches shorter than Ron. “Hullo! Meet Harry. Harry, this is our ghoul. He doesn’t really do anything except eat bugs and throw things.” 

The ghoul in question decided to throw something at that very moment. Right at Harry. 

Harry dodged out of the way as the ghoul threw a shoe, then a pipe, then a wrench, all in that exact order. He began to scream. Not the usual groaning and hollering that Harry heard late at night when the ghoul got bored, but true terror-stricken _screaming_. Ron grabbed him by his sweater and hauled him out down the stairs, shutting the door tightly behind him. “What... what was that about? I’m sorry, it’s never acted that way before.” 

First there was the incident with the house-elf trying to “save him” and now the Weasley family ghoul was so petrified it tried to attack him. Harry thought that maybe he shouldn’t elect to take Care of Magical Creatures next year. 


End file.
